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Vows And Honor Book 1: The Oathbound

Page 7

by The Oathbound [lit]


  "All right then; I'll get back to the inn. Maybe

  Hadell has a connection to something."

  Hadell poured Tarma a mug of ale, sat down

  beside her at the bench, and shook his head with

  regret. "Not a thing, Swordlady. I'm—"

  "Afraid this is the lean season, I know. Well look,

  I'm half mad with boredom, is there at least some-

  where I can practice?" Her trainers would not come

  to her while she was within city boundaries, so it

  was up to her to stay in shape. If she neglected

  to—woe betide her the next time they did come to

  her!

  "There's a practice ground with pells set up be-

  hind the stable, if you don't mind that it's outside

  and a simple dirt ring."

  "I think I'll survive," she laughed, and went to

  fetch her blades.

  The practice ground was easy enough to find;

  Tarma was pleased to find it deserted as well.

  There was a broom leaning against the fence to

  clear off the light snow; she used it to sweep the

  entire fenced enclosure clean. The air was crisp

  and still, the sun weak but bright, and close enough

  to the zenith that there would be no "bad" sides to

  face. She stood silently for a moment or two, eyes

  closed; shaking off the "now" and entering that

  timeless state that was both complete concentra-

  tion and complete detachment. She began with the

  warmup exercises; a series of slow, deliberate move-

  ment patterns that blurred, each into the next. When

  she had finished with them, she did not stop, but

  proceeded to the next stage, drawing the sword at

  her back and executing another movement series,

  this time a little faster. With each subsequent stage

  her moves became more intricate, and a bit more

  speed was added, until her blade was a shining

  blur and an onlooker could almost see the invisible

  opponent she dueled with.

  She ended exactly where she had begun, slowing

  her movements down again to end with the reshea-

  thing of her blade, as smooth and graceful as a leaf

  falling. As it went home in the scabbard with a

  metallic click, the applause began.

  Startled, Tarma glanced in the direction of the

  noise; she'd been so absorbed in her exercises that

  she hadn't noticed her watchers. There were three

  of them—Hadell, and two fur-cloaked middle-aged

  men who had not been part of the Guard contingent

  last night.

  She half-bowed (with a wry grin), and let them

  approach her.

  "I'd heard Shin'a'in were good—Swordlady, you've

  just proved to me that sometimes rumor speaks

  truth," said the larger of the two, a weathered-

  looking blond with short hair and a gold clasp to his

  cloak. "Lady, I'm Justin Twoblade, this is my

  shieldbrother Ikan Dry vale."

  "Tarma shena Tale'sedrin," she supplied, "And

  my thanks. A compliment comes sweeter from a

  brother in the trade."

  "We'd like to offer you more than compliments,

  if you're willing," said the second, amber-haired,

  like Kethry, but with blue eyes; and homely, with a

  plowboy's ingenuous expression.

  "Well, since I doubt it's a bid for bed-services,

  I'll at least hear you out."

  "Lessons. We'll pay your reckoning and your part-

  ner's in return for lessons."

  Tarma leaned on the top bar of the practice-

  enclosure and gave the notion serious thought. "Hmm,

  I'll admit I like the proposition," she replied, squint-

  ing into the sunlight. "Question is, why, and for

  how long? I'd hate to miss a chance at the only

  short-term job for months and then have you two

  vanish on me."

  Hadell interceded for them. "They'll not van-

  ish, Swordlady," he assured her. "Justin and Ikan

  are wintering here, waiting for the caravans to start

  up again in spring. They're highly valued men to

  the Jewel Merchant's Guild—valued enough that

  the merchants pay for 'em to stay here idle during

  the lean season."

  "Aye, valued and bored!" Ikan exclaimed. "That's

  one reason for you. Few enough are those willing to

  spar with either of us—fewer still with the leisure

  for it. And though I've seen your style before, I've

  never had a chance to learn it—or how to counter

  it. If you wouldn't mind our learning how to counter

  it, that is,"

  "Mind? Hardly. Honest guards like you won't see

  Clan facing your blades, and anyone else who's

  learned our style thinking he'll have an easy time

  against hirelings deserves to meet someone with

  the counters. Done, then; for however long it takes

  Keth to earn us the coin to reprovision, I'll be your

  teacher."

  "And we'll take care of the reckoning," Justin

  said, with a sly grin. "We'll just add it to our

  charges on the Guild. Odds are they'll think we've

  just taken to drinking and wenching away the win-

  ter nights!"

  "Justin, I think I'm going to like you two," Tarma

  laughed. "You think a lot like me!"

  Three

  Yellow lamplight made warm pools around the

  common room of the Broken Sword, illuminat-

  ing a scene far more relaxed than that of the night

  before. The other residents of the inn were much

  more cheerful, and certainly less weary, for there

  had been no repetition of yesterday's riot.

  The two women had taken a table to themselves

  at the back of the room, in the corner. It was

  quieter there, and easier for them to hear each

  other. A lamp just over the table gave plenty of

  light, and Kethry could see that Tarma was quite

  well pleased with herself.

  ". . . so I've got a pair of pupils. Never thought

  I'd care for teaching, but I'm having a rare good

  time of it," Tarma concluded over fish stew and

  fried potatoes. "Of course it helps that Ikan and

  Justin are good-tempered about their mistakes, and

  they've got the proper attitude about learning

  swordwork."

  "Which is?" Kethry asked, cheered to see a smile

  on Tarma's face for a change. A real smile, one of

  pleasure, not of irony.

  "That inside that enclosure, I'm the only author-

  ity there is."

  Kethry sniffed in derision; it was quiet enough

  in the back-wall corner they'd chosen that Tarma

  heard the sniff and grinned. "Modest, aren't you?"

  the mage teased.

  She was feeling considerably better herself. No

  spies of Wethes or Kavin had leapt upon her during

  the day, and nothing that had occurred had brought

  back any bad memories. In point of fact she had

  frequently forgotten that she was in Mornedealth

  at all. All her apprehension now seemed rather

  pointless.

  "No, seriously," Tarma replied to her japing.

  "That's the way it is; no matter what your relation-

  ship is outside the lessons, inside the lesson the

  master is
The Master. The Master's word is law,

  and don't argue about the way you learned some-

  thing before." Tarma wiped her plate clean with a

  last bit of bread, and settled back against the wall.

  "A lot of hire-swords don't understand that rela-

  tionship—especially if it's a woman standing in the

  Master's place—but Ikan and Justin have had good

  teaching, and got it early enough to do some good.

  They're able, and they're serious, and they're going

  to come along fast."

  "What if you wanted to learn something from one

  of them?" Kethry asked, idly turning a ring on her

  finger. "Wouldn't all this Master business cause

  problems?"

  "No, because when I become the pupil, my teacher

  becomes the Master—actually that's already hap-

  pened. Just before we wrapped up for the day, I

  asked Justin to show me a desperation-counter he'd

  used on me earlier." Tarma sighed regretfully. "Wish

  you knew something of swordwork, Greeneyes—that

  was a clever move he showed me. If you knew

  enough to appreciate it, I could go on about it for a

  candlemark. Could get you killed if you tried it

  without timing it exactly right, but if you did, it

  could save your getting spitted in a situation I

  couldn't see any way out of."

  Kethry shook her head. "I don't see how you keep

  things straight. Back at the School, we only had one

  Master for each pupil, so we didn't get mixed up in

  trying to learn two different styles of magery."

  "But half of your weaponry as a hire-sword is

  flexibility. You've got to be able to learn anything

  from anybody," Tarma replied. "If you can't be

  flexible enough mentally to accept any number of

  Masters, you've no business trying to make your

  living with a blade, and that's all there is to say.

  How did your day go?"

  "Enlightening." Kethry wore a fairly wry smile.

  She raised her voice slightly so as to be heard above

  the hum of conversation that filled the room. "I

  never quite realized the extent to which polite feud-

  ing among the Fifty goes before I took this little

  job."

  "Ah?" Tarma cocked an inquiring eyebrow and

  washed down the last bite of bread and butter with

  a long pull on her mug.

  "Well, I thought that business the fellow at the

  Hiring Hall told us was rather an exaggeration—

  until I started using mage-sight on some of the

  animals my client had picked out as possibles. A

  good half of them had been beglamoured, and I

  recognized the feel of the kind of glamour that's

  generally used by House mages around here. Some

  of what was being covered was kind of funny, in a

  nasty-brat sort of way—like the pair of matched

  grays that turned out to be fine animals, just a

  particularly hideous shade of muddy yellow."

  "What would that have accomplished? A horse is

  a horse, no matter the color."

  "Well, just imagine the young man's chagrin to

  be driving these beasts hitched to his maroon rig;

  in a procession, perhaps—and then the glamour is

  lifted, with all eyes watching and tongues ready to

  flap."

  Tarma chuckled. "He'd lose a bit of face over it,

  not that I can feel too sorry for any idiot that would

  drive a maroon rig."

  "You're heartless, you are. Maroon and blue are

  his House colors, and he hasn't much choice but to

  display them. He'd lose more than a little face over

  it; he wouldn't dare show himself with his rig in

  public until he got something so spectacular to pull

  it that his embarrassment would be forgotten, and

  for a trick like that, he'd practically have to have

  hitched trained griffins to overcome his loss of

  pride. By the way, that's my client you're calling an

  idiot, and he's paying quite well."

  "In that case, I forgive him the rig. How long do

  you think you'll be at this?"

  "About a week, maybe two."

  "Good; that will give my pupils their money's

  worth and get us back on the road in good time."

  "I hope so," Kethry looked over her shoulder a

  little, feeling a stirring of her previous uneasiness.

  "The longer I stay here, the more likely it is I'll be

  found out."

  "I doubt it," Tarma took another long pull at her

  mug. "Who'd think to look for you here?"

  "She's where?" The incredulous voice echoed in

  the high vaulting and bounced from the walls of

  the expensively appointed, blackwood paneled office.

  "At one of the foreigner's inns; the Broken Sword.

  It's used mostly by mercenaries," Kavin replied,

  leaning back in his chair and dangling his nearly-

  empty wineglass from careless fingers. He half-closed

  his gray eyes in lazy pleasure to see Wethes squirm-

  ing and fretting for his heirloom carpet and fragile

  furniture. "She isn't using her full name, and is

  claiming to be foreign herself."

  "What's she doing there?" Wethes ran nervous

  fingers through his carefully oiled black locks, then

  played with the gold letter opener from his desk

  set. "Has she any allies? I don't like the notion of

  going after her in an inn full of hire-swords. There

  could be trouble, and more than money would cover."

  "She wears the robes of a sorceress, and from all

  I could tell, has earned the right to—"

  "That's trouble enough right there," Wethes

  interrupted.

  Kavin's eyes narrowed in barely-concealed anger

  at the banker's rudeness. "That is what you have a

  house mage to take care of, my gilded friend. Use

  him. Besides, I strongly doubt she could be his

  equal, else she'd have a patron, and be spending the

  winter in a cozy little mage-tower. Instead of that,

  she's wandering about as an itinerant, doing noth-

  ing more taxing than checking horses for beglamour-

  ing. As to her allies, there's only one that matters.

  A Shin'a'in swordswoman."

  "Shin'a'in? One of the sword-dancers? I don't

  like the sound of that."

  "They seem," he continued, toying with a lock of

  his curly, pale gold hair, "to be lovers."

  "I like that even less."

  "Wethes, for all your bold maneuvering in the

  marketplace, you are a singularly cowardly man."

  Kavin put his imperiled glass safely on one of

  Wethes' highly-polished wooden tables, and smiled

  to himself when Wethes winced in anticipation of

  the ring its moist bottom would cause. He stood up

  and stretched lazily, consciously mirroring one of

  the banker's priceless marbles behind him; then

  smoothed his silk-velvet tunic back into its proper

  position. He smiled to himself again at the flash of

  greed in Wethes' eyes; the banker valued him as

  much for his decorative value as for his lineage.

  With Kavin as a guest, any party Wethes held was

  certain to attract a high number of Mornedealth's

 
; acknowledged beauties as well as the younger mem-

  bers of the Fifty. It was probably time again to

  grace one of the fat fool's parties with his presence,

  after all, he did owe him something. His forbear-

  ance in not negating their bargain when Kavin's

  brat-sister vanished deserved some reward.

  Of course, their arrangement was not all one-

  sided. Wethes would have lost all he'd gained by

  the marriage and more had it become known that

  his child-bride had fled him before the union was a

  day old. And now that she'd been gone more than

  three years—by law, she was no longer his wife at

  all. That would have been infinitely worse. It had

  been Kavin who had suggested that they pretend

  that Kethry had gone to stay on Wethes' country

  estate. Kethry was unused to dealing with people

  in any numbers, and found her new position as

  Wethes' helpmeet somewhat overwhelming—so they

  told the curious. She was happier away from the

  city and the confusion of society. Kavin was only

  too pleased to represent her interests with Wethes,

  and play substitute for her at formal occasions.

  They'd kept up the fiction for so long that even

  Kavin was starting to half-believe in Wethes' "shy"

  spouse.

  "The Shin'a'in will be no problem," Kavin said

  soothingly, "She's a stranger in this city; she doesn't

  know it, she has no friends; All we need do is take

  your wayward wife when she's out from under the

  swordswoman's eye, and the Shin'a'in will be help-

  less to find her. She wouldn't even begin to know

  where to look. Although why you're bothering with

  this is beyond me. Kethry's hardly of an age to

 

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